Betrothed? The world began to buzz.
“One was our father,” Diana said, “but the other one—”
“Viscount Parkington.” Glenna spit the name.
“The cad,” Briar hissed.
“Who?” Lottie asked.
“He’s not her betrothed.” Diana wrung her hands. “I swear it. Oh! We should have gone after her, tried to save her.”
“What do we do now?” June sounded like a general ready to march into battle.
“She’s with her father?” Samuel sat back on his heels, his mind running so quickly he couldn’t catch up, couldn’t grasp a damn thing. Surely she was safe with her father. But he haddraggedher? “I’ve never heard of Viscount Parkington.” He was not her betrothed; that was damn certain.
“A man who gave her some trouble last Season,” Glenna said. “He claimed he was in love with her. He wasn’t. He just… he just… he merelywantedher.”
Samuel cursed.Thatman, then, the one she’d told him about.
Felicity placed a hand on Samuel’s forearm. “Emma went with them on her own. In the end. I heard her. I heard them… a little bit. Her father said someone was going to marry Parkington, and if it wasn't Emma, it would be Glenna. So, Emma went.”
Glenna squeaked.
And Samuel ached for a pistol to put two bullets right between two sets of eyes he’d never even seen before. God.Glenna. Emma would give her life to save her sisters and to keep Glenna from enduring a relationship she had no desire for.Emma would give her life.
And she had. Of course she had. Samuel expected nothing less, but damn… what did he do now?
“The last thing Emma said was that you’d understand, Samuel.” Felicity spoke almost in a whisper. But the room had shattered into such silence, she might as well have been yelling.
Understand the need to save her sister no matter what? Understand sacrifice and love and how it hurt so deeply. But she’d step into it so swiftly. If it meant saving those she loved best.
She’d known Samuel would understand.
Because he did.
Felicity held something out to him, something pink and flimsy. “Emma said to give it to you.”
Between his fingers, the handkerchief was warm and smooth, embroidered all around with flowers. The one Emma’s mother had made for her to carry on her wedding day.
He understood this, too. She would give that bit of embroidery to only one man. Her husband. She was counting on him. She was leaning on him when she’d never relied on anyone else.
Samuel stuffed the handkerchief into his pocket and stood, his mind racing.
“Samuel?” Lottie settled at his side, laying a hand on his shoulder. “What are you going to do?”
Samuel straightened his cuffs. “Bring her home.” He straightened his waistcoat. “Marry her.” He stepped calmly into the hallway. “Probably, first, I’ll stick a knife in her father’s gut.”
As they broke out into a cacophony of protests and cheers, he ran. Back into the ballroom and halfway down the steps. He vaulted over the railing and landed in the ballroom, then shot out the doors.
He ran upstairs and found his box of knives, found the belt of leather with the sheaths, and he filled each one with knives meant more for protection than for play. Sharp bladed and good for carving bone.
Then he was on his horse, and he was headed north, black cloak billowing behind him.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Every bounce of the coach sent Parkington lurching into her, even the small ones. No doubt he did it on purpose because each brush of his arm against hers, each intrusive shove of his thigh close to her body came with a leer.
Samuel would come. She knew he would. She’d known that leaving the ballroom, known it as soon as she’d grasped the handkerchief and held it out to Felicity. She could not abandon her future so easily. Not this time. Not when she had someone willing to help her fight for it.
